


The Doctor and the Minor

by mmgage



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-25
Updated: 2011-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-12 21:19:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmgage/pseuds/mmgage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for October Friday night challenge on the O/C Babes Forum. The prompt was: House is forced by the Board of PPTH to take a brief leave of absence in October... Why? And where does he go? Who does he meet or take with him? It's also inspired by the Ginger Rogers film, The Major and the Minor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1  
House grunted in pain as the train took a curve. He braced himself as best he could with his cane and his arm, grateful that no one was behind him in the corridor. This was a really stupid idea, he told himself for the third time that day. Maintaining his balance against the train's sway had proven more difficult and painful than he'd anticipated, and it was almost impossible when the train took a curve. When they finally straightened out, he took a moment to find his equilibrium again before continuing on his painful way to the dining car.

The car was crowded with people and it took him a moment to spot an empty booth. He'd just reached it and was about to sit when a petite woman stepped up to the opposite side. Her red hair was in pig-tails and she was wearing an Abercombie and Fitch t-shirt over a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. A back-pack was slung over one shoulder and there was an iPod clipped to her belt-loop. House's first thought was Why is this woman dressing like a teenager?

"Hey," she protested, narrowing grey-green eyes at him. "I was going to sit here." Her tone was petulant and for a second she sounded just like a spoiled teen. He studied her for a moment, trying to assess her age. Despite the clothing, youthful hair-style, and attitude, he still wasn't convinced.

"You snooze, you lose," he retorted, sliding into the booth. He breathed out a sigh of relief to be off his feet. Stupid, he thought again, stretching his bad leg out and resting his foot on the bench across from him. Gimps and trains are not a good mix.

"Fine," the woman-girl huffed, crossing her arms across her chest. A second later she gave a startled cry and reached out to catch onto the back of the bench-seat as the train took another curve.

"Sit down already," House growled at her. "Before you fall in my lap."

"You'd probably enjoy that," she retorted. She glared at him for a second before shrugging off her back-pack and flinging it into the bench. House yelped when it landed on his foot.

"Hey!" he protested, kicking the bag off.

"Sorry," the girl/woman muttered, slipping into the booth. House glared at her and was surprised when she met his glower head-on. After a moment he reached for a menu on the table and she followed suit. They each lifted the laminated folders at the same time, not looking away from each other until the menus were blocking their faces. Once he was sure his expression was hidden, House allowed himself to smirk. She's certainly got the attitude down, he thought, but she's no teenager. He turned his attention to the menu and was pleased to see that Ruebens were offered. When a waitress turned up a few minutes later he placed an order for a dry Rueben without pickles, French fries, and a Coke.

"You two together?" the waitress asked, turning her attention to the woman-girl. House opened his mouth to say no and was startled when he was cut off.

"Yeah. He's my uncle." House closed his mouth and sat back, studying her as she placed her order (a Chef salad without tomatoes and a Coke). The waitress moved away and he waited. The woman-girl looked at him and chuckled nervously.

"Don't worry - I'll pay for my own lunch," she said.

"Uh-huh." House kept his face still with an effort, enjoying the way she was squirming.

"Look – all the staff on the train are flipping out 'cause I'm 15 and travelling without a parent. I just thought if I told them you were my uncle, they'd back off and leave me alone." She gave him a tentative smile, her eyes pleading. "Can't you help me out?"

"You are not 15," he replied.

"I am!" she protested. He shook his head. "I really am. I can show you my id…"

"Save it," he said, holding up a hand. He didn't doubt that she had a fake id listing her age as 15; she would have needed it for the discounted ticket. The thought amused him – he'd bet it was the first time someone had asked for a fake id showing they were underage. "Here's the deal. You'll pay for your lunch, and mine too."

"Why should I pay for yours?" she demanded.

"Consider it a service charge," he answered. She glared at him for a moment before sitting back in the seat.

"Fine," she huffed, crossing her arms across her abdomen. The move only served to emphasize her breasts and House took a moment to admire them. He winced when she kicked him under the table. "You're supposed to be my uncle, not a pervert," she hissed.

"You haven't done anything to make me say 'uncle' yet," he retorted. For a second her lips twitched and he thought she would laugh, but then she resumed her sullen expression. House shook his head. "There's another nail in your coffin," he said. "A 15 year-old wouldn't get that reference."

"That doesn't prove anything," she sneered. "I happen to like old movies."

"Riight." He folded his arms across his chest and waited, watching her. After a moment she turned her head to look out the window, fiddling nervously with her braid. House could see her jaw working, but she didn't turn back to the table until their food arrived.

"So," he asked once the waitress had moved away, "what do I call you, niecey?"

She looked at him for a moment and smiled. "You can call me Ginger."

"But that's not your name," he said. "There's no way your parents named their red-haired daughter 'Ginger.'"

"It's the only name I'm giving you," she replied with a shrug. "Take it or leave it." She held his gaze for a second before turning her attention to her salad. He shook his head and reached for his sandwich. They spent a few minutes eating before he spoke again.

"So… Ginger, where are you headed?" he asked. She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes. "Hey – if I'm going to pass as your 'uncle' I need to know."

"Albuquerque," she said, stabbing a chunk of lettuce.

"And are Mommy and Daddy waiting for you there?"

She paused, her fork mid-way between her plate and her mouth. "Yes."

"Which one am I related to?"

With a sigh of exasperation she put her fork down and frowned at him. "I don't think we need…"

"If someone asks, we'd better both have the same answer."

"Look, when we're done here I plan to go back to my seat and hopefully never see you again. So can we skip the twenty questions and finish our meals already?" She picked up her fork and bit off the clump of salad forcefully.

"You are sooo not fifteen," House said, smirking at her. She growled around a mouthful of food and let her fork clatter against her plate. Once she'd swallowed, she spoke.

"Would you just let it go already?" she hissed.

"Nope."

"You need to accept the fact that I've told you all I'm going to tell you," she said. "And please, keep your voice down when you're making your baseless accusations."

"Oh yeah. That's exactly how fifteen-year-olds talk." Her face flushed and he chuckled. She's pretty when she's angry, he thought, and then laughed at the cliché. An image of an angry, screaming Cuddy flashed into his mind, sobering him at once. Unlike someone else I know. With a grimace, he pushed his plate away and turned to look out the window. The sun was setting, casting a reddish-orange glow over the passing scenery. By the time they reached Pittsburgh it would be dark out. Good timing – rusting-out steel mills don't make for great scenery, he thought.

A few minutes later he became aware of Ginger stealing fries off his plate. He reached out to catch her wrist in mid-snatch.

"You weren't eating them," she pouted. "And I'm paying for them."

"That's more like it," he said. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost believe you were a teenager."

"I am," she replied. Their eyes locked for a moment and then she tried to pull her hand away. "You need to let go of me, Uncle."

"Right." He released her wrist and sat back in the booth. She copied him, leaning back in her seat. She started to fold her arms across her stomach again and stopped herself.

"Are you done eating?" she asked, nodding toward his half-empty plate.

"Are you?" he countered.

"Hey – my dish is empty over here," she replied, lifting her plate for him to see. Sure enough, aside from some smears of Ranch dressing, there was nothing on it. He looked back to his half-consumed sandwich and sighed.

"Yeah. I'm done." He shifted on the bench, pulling his foot down. Stabbing pain shot through his leg and he winced before he could stop himself.

"You ok?" Ginger asked. She'd gotten to her feet already and was standing in the aisle, watching him.

"Go pay the bill already," he growled, embarrassed by her attention. "Then you can go back to your seat and never see me again." He thought he saw her flinch when he flung her words back at her, but he wasn't looking straight at her so he wasn't sure. By the time he did shift his gaze back to her, she was moving, heading for the cashier. He got carefully to his feet and moved slowly after her.

By the time he caught up to her, she was finished paying. She turned, a small wad of bills in her hand.

"I need to leave a tip for the waitress," she said. "I'll be right back." House nearly snarled that he'd be on his way, but the cashier was watching their exchange. He simply nodded his head and moved to lean against the wall by the door. His leg was throbbing just from standing; he wasn't looking forward to the walk back to his compartment.

"Ready, Uncle?" Ginger asked, stepping up to him.

"Let's go," he replied. He motioned for her to go ahead, not wanting her to see him grimace when he pushed himself off the wall. She held the door for him as he made his way into the next car. He was aware of her behind him as he moved down the aisle and into another car. When she followed him into the third car, he stopped.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. The front of third of the car contained seats; the back contained compartments, including the one reserved for House.

"My seat's back here," Ginger replied. "Oh, don't tell me – yours is too?"

"Hmph." He turned away and continued on his way. He could feel her watching as he moved past the last row of seats and on to his compartment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Here's our next installment (there are 6 in total). I did some research on traveling via Amtrak, including what the "family sleeper compartments" are like but I've taken some liberties here (namely - I've given House a larger bathroom).

Inside the compartment, House dropped into the seat with a sigh of relief. There had been a few times during the walk back when his leg had come close to spasm. He was grateful to have made it without collapsing in front of Ginger. _This was a really really stupid idea_ , he chided himself. He stretched his leg out to rest on the bench across from him and leaned his head back, letting his eyes slip shut. His face twisted in a grimace as he remembered how he'd come to be here.

A week ago he and Cuddy had been called before the hospital board. He'd known going in that they were in serious trouble. Cuddy had been vacillating between being overly harsh and overly generous with him. For his part, he'd spent far too much time worrying about what she really meant instead of what was best for his patient. Working together clearly wasn't working out.

The board had been seated along one side of the conference room table, with two seats left on the other side for House and Cuddy. They'd sat down and he'd reached for her hand under the cover of the table, feeling a stab of dismay when she'd jerked away as if he'd burned her. The board president had proceeded to read out a list of complaints from other doctors in the hospital.

"It's clear to us, Dr. Cuddy, that you are not capable of supervising Dr. House. It's also clear to us, Dr. House, that you've taken advantage of your relationship with Dr. Cuddy to create more than your usual amount of chaos in this hospital."

House glanced at Cuddy, unsure what expression he'd see on her face. She was staring at the president, looking stunned.

"We followed policy," she said finally. "We reported our relationship to HR."

"We're aware of that, Dr. Cuddy."

"I've tried to treat Dr. House fairly," Cuddy said. "He's always been… difficult but…"

"The situation as it stands cannot continue. We have to act in the best interests of this hospital. While we cannot tell you what to do in your personal lives, it's clear to us that your relationship is affecting your professional lives. We're requesting that you each take a 6 week leave of absence and suggest that you spend some time considering what's more important to you – your careers or your relationship." House waited for Cuddy to fire back, but she said nothing. After a moment, he got to his feet.

"C'mon," he said quietly. He reached out to touch her shoulder and she jerked away from him. She got stiffly to her feet and marched out of the room, not bothering to hold the door. He caught it in time to keep it from slamming in to him and followed her out. She kept walking until she reached the balcony over-looking the lobby. She stopped there, leaning against the railing and staring out at her hospital. House waited a few feet behind her. He had a sinking feeling. When she finally turned to look at him, he wasn't surprised at the anger in her face.

"They're right," she said. "I can't date you and supervise you at the same time."

"I wouldn't call what we've been doing 'dating'," he replied. "Screwing perhaps or…"

"So now you want to go out to the movies and dinner and act like a normal couple?" Cuddy retorted. She took a step away from the railing and lowered her voice to a hiss. "You seemed fine with us spending every evening in your bed up to this point."

"You were the one who wanted to keep things 'discreet'!"

"Obviously I was right to be concerned," she spat. They glared at each other for a moment and then she sighed. "This is a nightmare."

"It's a leave of absence, not a termination," House replied, taking a step toward her. "We can get better at this…"

"No, we can't." Cuddy took a step back from his approach, shaking her head. "This… this is never going to work. I've been lying to myself this whole time. You're never going to change."

"You said you didn't want me to change," he protested weakly.

She sighed and shrugged. "Everybody lies, House. Isn't that what you've always said?" She'd continued speaking but by that time all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears as his heart pounded. She'd finished by patting his arm once before heading back toward the conference room. He'd stayed where he was for several minutes before moving to the elevator. He'd gathered up a few things in his office and left the hospital.

The first phone call from Wilson had come that evening. He'd been working on his third Scotch by then and let the answering machine pick up. The phone rang twice more as the evening progressed. Wilson may have tried his cell phone too; House wasn't sure as he'd turned it off as soon as he got home. Thirty-minutes later, someone was pounding on his door. By then the bottle of Scotch was gone, House was sprawled across his couch, and the room was spinning.

"House, I know you're in there," Wilson called.

"If I'm too drunk to get up and find another bottle, I'm too drunk to answer the door!" House yelled back.

"House, get up and let me in!" The pounding continued for a few minutes and then all was silent in the hallway.

"If you get stuck in the window again, I'm leaving you there," House muttered. He shifted on the couch, burying his face in a pillow and closing his eyes.

When he woke up late the next morning, he did not find Wilson in the window. He spent a long time in the bath, trying to soak the aching out of his leg and the pounding out of his head. He ventured out long enough to restock his supply of Scotch before bolting his door and returning to his couch.

The pattern of phone calls and attempted visits repeated for the next several days. Wilson even brought Foreman with him one night, but House still refused to open the door. The fourth night was quiet. By then he'd run through his porn collection, so he dragged his laptop over to the coffee table and went on-line in search of something else to watch. He wasn't sure how it happened, but he wound up on Amtrak's website.

When he woke up late Saturday morning, the confirmation screen was still up on his laptop. He'd booked himself a trip on the Southwestern Chief, leaving Philly at 11:59 am on Monday. He had a "family compartment," which apparently featured multiple beds. He stared at the screen for a minute, and then his phone started ringing again. When Wilson's agitated voice sounded from his answering machine, he reached out to hit the ok button.

Late that afternoon he was tossing his suitcase into the car when Wilson pulled in. House bit back a groan. He was sorely tempted to just get in the car and drive off, but instead he leaned against the vehicle and waited.

"You're… you're leaving?" Wilson demanded the second he was out of his car.

"No, I'm just storing my suitcase in the trunk," House retorted.

"House… you need to go talk to Cuddy."

"No, I don't." He pushed himself off his car and started to walk around it.

"She's the best thing that's ever happened to you! Is it really too much for her to ask you to change? Are you really _that_ selfish?" Wilson continued to rant even as House pulled open the driver's door of the old car. When he finally paused for breath, House looked at him.

"Good-bye, Wilson," he said. He got into the car, fighting back a chuckle at Wilson's open-mouthed stare, and fired it up.

He'd driven to Philadelphia and spent the next two nights in a hotel near the train station. He'd finally dared to turn his cell phone on at noon on Sunday. There were 12 voice mails waiting for him. He deleted each one as soon as he saw that it was from Wilson. He was surprised to find 4 text messages waiting for him as well. One was from Foreman, asking him to call Wilson, and he deleted it. The next was from Taub, asking him to call the team. He deleted that one as well. The third was from Chase and simply said "R U OK?" He smiled for a second before deleting the message. Chase had sent the fourth message too and House smirked when he read it. "Have a nice trip!"

"Suck-up," he muttered, hitting the delete button.

A knock on the compartment door brought House back to the present. He got to his feet slowly and stepped to the door. He found a conductor standing there with a sheepish-looking Ginger at his side.

"Sir, did you realize that your niece was sleeping out here in one of the seats?" the man asked, frowning in disapproval. House stared at him for a second before shifting his gaze to Ginger. She mouthed the word sorry and gave a slight shrug. With a sigh, he stepped back and waved her into the compartment.

"That's where you went," he said to her as she slipped inside. "I'm sorry, Sir. We had a small argument and she ran off on me."

"You'd best keep a close eye on her," the conductor admonished. "It's dangerous for a young woman to be travelling alone."

"Right. I'll bear that in mind." House slid the compartment door shut as fast as he could and flipped the lock before turning to frown at Ginger.

"Sorry," she said with a shrug. "I'll sneak back out in a few minutes…"

"And then he'll drag you back the next time he makes a trip through the car."

"I didn't think this would happen," she protested. "I said I was sorry." She fiddled with a braid and House sighed in exasperation.

"You can drop the teenager act," he snarled. "Bad enough I'm stuck with your company. I'm not going to keep playing your stupid game too."

"I'm not…" She stopped and sighed. "Fine."

"Good." House moved past her to return to his seat, breathing out a sigh of relief to be off his feet again.

"So, these things fold out into beds, right?" Ginger gestured to the benches and the over-head pull-out.

"That's what the pictures promised."

"So, are you ready to do that?"

"Slow down," he protested. "One minute you're my teenage niece and the next you can't wait to get me into bed."

"I have no intention of getting into bed _with_ you," she retorted. "But I am tired and you look like you are too so I thought we should get the beds ready."

House studied her for a moment before demanding, "This is what you were angling for all along, isn't it?" Ginger stared at him for a minute before sighing and shaking her head.

"Believe what you want to believe," she said, moving toward him. He jerked away from her approach, leaning back in the seat as far as he could. She stopped, a puzzled frown on her face. "I'm just going to pull down the upper bunk."

"Fine," he said. He got to his feet to move to the other seat and at that moment the train jerked. His leg cramped and he fell forward. He crashed into Ginger, who wound up sitting down hard in the other bench, with him draped across her. For a minute they just stayed as they were. House's leg was still in spasm, making movement difficult. He was wondering if he'd knocked the wind out of Ginger when she spoke.

"Would you mind getting your face out of my cleavage?" she demanded.

"I'd be glad to, but my leg's not cooperating." She snorted and he sighed, straining to tilt his head back enough to look up at her. "That's not a euphemism."

"Oh," she said. "Ok. How about if I… and you…" She shifted, trying to help him get his good foot under him and eventually they managed to get him turned and into the seat. His leg was still cramping and he leaned forward, clawing at it with both hands and keeping his head down. He didn't want to see pity or scorn in Ginger's face. She moved away and he heard a zipper and the sound of her rummaging in something. A minute later a packet was thrust toward him.

"Will this help?" she asked. He looked up enough to study what she held out. It was an air-activated heat-wrap. After a second's deliberation, he reached out to take it.

"Look away," he muttered.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom," she said. He waited until he heard the door snick shut and then he moved, fumbling with his belt and his fly. He slid his jeans down far enough to expose his scar and then tore into the package. His hands were shaking and it took him a moment to get the wrap fastened around his thigh. He'd just finished getting his pants buttoned when the bathroom door slid open a crack.

"All clear?" Ginger asked.

"Yeah." He sighed, feeling the wrap starting to heat up, and shifted his gaze to her. "You always carry heat wraps around?"

"I get cold easily," she said, shrugging. She pushed the wrapper remnants aside and sat down beside him. "Is it helping?"

"Yeah." He let himself lean back in the seat as the cramping started to ease. He could feel Ginger watching him and shifted his gaze to stare out the window. Night had fallen, cutting off his view, but he kept his eyes trained in that direction all the same.

"I'm going to go ahead and get the beds ready." House nodded, keeping his eyes on the window. He watched Ginger's reflection as she pulled down the upper bunk and collected bedding from the closet to make it up. He turned from the window when she started to pull out the seat across from him. He got cautiously to his feet and headed for the bathroom.

When he emerged the cabin lights were off save one small one over the lower bunk and Ginger was in the upper bunk. Her clothing was folded neatly on top of her back-pack and House wondered what she was wearing to sleep.

"I'm not naked so you can just get that image out of your head," she said drily.

"Killjoy," he retorted, limping over to his bed. He sat on the edge and toed off his shoes. He worked off his belt carefully before undoing his jeans and slipping them off. He slid under the covers in his boxers and t-shirt, breathing out a sigh as he stretched out his leg. The cramping in his leg had stopped but the muscles were still sore. The wrap was fully heated now and the penetrating warmth felt wonderful. The light was shining right in his eyes and he switched it off before settling back. He expected his usual battle with insomnia but instead he drifted to sleep within a few minutes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I have exercised my creative license and taken a few liberties with Amtrak in this story. I'm told that actual bathrooms in sleeping compartments are VERY small but for our purposes let's pretend that they are closer to the sort of little bathroom you might find in a cheaper chain hotel. I've also moved the train's route, having them pass through Indianapolis rather than Chicago because I am familiar with downtown Indy but not downtown Chicago. And 'cause I'm the author and this is fiction and I can. :)  
**

The smell of coffee woke House. The next thing he was aware of was a sense of movement. It took him a moment to remember where he was. _Right. I'm on a train, heading west. 'Cause I'm an idiot._ With a groan he started to sit up and then more memories came back – meeting Ginger in the dining car, masquerading as her uncle, and then getting stuck sharing the compartment with her last night. He checked for the bedding and was relieved to find himself still covered. He sat up with care, spotting a pair of bare legs dangling from the bunk above him.

"I'm still not naked," Ginger called out. "There's a cup of coffee in the cup-holder down there." House shifted on his bunk so he could peer up at her. She appeared to be wearing an over-sized t-shirt. The blanket was pulled across her lap so he couldn't tell if she was wearing anything more. She was sipping coffee from a foam cup and looking smug.

"How did you get coffee without getting dressed?" he demanded. "Do you carry around a coffee maker along with heat wraps?"

She snorted. "There's one in the bathroom," she replied. "Next to the sink."

"Right." He nodded as the memory of seeing it the night before came back to him. He reached for the coffee, hoping it would wake up his brain. He seemed slow on the uptake this morning.

"How's the leg?" Ginger asked a few minutes later. House took another sip of coffee as he assessed.

"Sore," he said finally.

"So, does that mean really sore or is that stoic-speak for about-to-cramp-at-any-minute?" she asked.

"Stoic-speak?"

"Ok, maybe masochistic-speak would be better." When he arched a brow at her she smiled. "You've got a bum leg and you've booked yourself a trip on a _train_. Seems pretty masochistic to me."

"Most travel is masochistic for a guy with a bum leg," he muttered, looking away.

"So why are you doing it?"

"I was drunk when I made the booking. When I sobered up… escaping still seemed like a good plan."

"Ah." Ginger nodded and he scowled at her.

"Pretend-15-year-olds know a lot about shopping drunk huh?"

"More about escaping," she replied, unfazed by his glare. "We also get to spend less money on it."

"I figured you were playing this game to get a discounted ticket," he said impatiently. "But what are you running from?" She cocked her head to one side, studying him for a moment.

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," she said finally.

"Right," he scoffed.

"You think I'll lie?"

"Everybody lies," he said, grimacing as Cuddy's voice echoed the words in his head. He was surprised at how much the memory still stung. Suddenly he longed for the familiar burn of Scotch in his throat and the numbness it would bring. If he could just silence his mind…

"I'm not going to lie to you." Ginger's soft voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked up to see her climbing down the ladder from her bunk. She _was_ wearing just a t-shirt, but it was long enough to keep her covered so that all he could see was her shapely legs. He supposed he should feel disappointed by that but right now he couldn't manage it. She sat down on the end of his bunk, careful to avoid his legs, and looked him straight in the eye.

"Don't tell me – you never lie," he sneered. "Except when you're defrauding railroad companies."

"You don't realize what a chance we've got here," she replied, ignoring his jibe. "We're complete strangers who are never going to see each other after this trip. We've got no reason to lie to each other. We can be completely honest."

He stared at her, his heart pounding a little. _Is she crazy, or putting me on?_ "Fine," he said, deciding to test her. "What's your real name?"

"Amy."

"I don't believe you." He waited for her to sputter in outrage but she just shrugged and the over-sized t-shirt slipped, baring one slim shoulder. He stared at it, his hand almost twitching with the urge to reach out and caress the smooth skin. He swallowed a lump in his throat and forced himself to look up at her face. She was smiling, clearly bemused by his reaction.

"My name is Amy Grace Roberts," she said, shifting and causing the shirt to dip a little lower, "and I think it's your turn now."

"House," he said, swallowing another lump. "Greg House."

"Nice to meet you, Greg." She held out a hand and he reached to take it. Her handshake was firm and dry, the skin on her hand soft and smooth. "If I'm going to have to do a strip-tease to get you to talk, I'd better put some more clothing on. Otherwise, this will be a very short conversation."

"Talking's over-rated," he said and she laughed. By now the top swell of one breast was exposed and his hand was itching to reach out and pull on the shirt so that the entire globe would be revealed. She sighed and tugged the shirt back up.

"We're going to be in Indianapolis in a couple of hours. We'd better get dressed and have some breakfast." She moved to the edge of the bunk and House leaned forward to catch her hand.

"Wait," he protested.

"If we're not going to talk…"

"I was sort-of dating my boss. The board of directors ordered us to take 6 weeks off and she dumped me." Ginger-Amy studied him for a moment before nodding. He let go of her arm and sat back. She stayed at the edge of the bed, watching him.

"What's sort-of dating?" she asked.

"Going to my apartment after work and screwing our brains out every evening."

"Gotcha," she said, nodding. She took a deep breath. "I was living with a guy – one of my coworkers. He was up for a promotion at work and dumped me to make sure our relationship wouldn't spoil his chances."

" _That's_ what you're escaping from?" He winced, realizing how harsh he sounded, but it didn't seem to faze her.

"No. I'm escaping from the fact that he got the promotion and is now my boss."

"Ah." He nodded in understanding and she gave him a grim smile.

"Office romance sucks," she said.

"If you're lucky," he answered and she laughed.

"Ok – now I am going to get dressed." She slipped off the bed and snatched up her backpack on her way to the bathroom. House stared at the closed door, replaying her words. _We're complete strangers who are never going to see each other after this trip. We can be completely honest._ He snorted. The idea was crazy. Wasn't it?

Ginger-Amy emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later. She'd left her long red hair loose and had paired jeans with another t-shirt layered over a long-sleeved shirt. Today's t-shirt boasted the slogan "Your village called. Their idiot is missing."

"Nice," House muttered and she laughed. She climbed up to her bunk to get her bedding and he slipped out of the bed, snagging his duffel and stepping into the bathroom to get changed. He was relieved to discover that the sway of the train seemed to have lessened during the night. As he pulled the heat-wrap off his sore leg, he wondered if he might find a drug-store near the station where he could pick up some more. It had certainly helped the night before, and it would be good to have one to return to Ginger. Or Amy. He shook his head ruefully; he wasn't sure what to call her now.

When he stepped back into the compartment, he found that Ginger (he'd decided to stick with that name for now) had stowed their bedding and folded up the bunks. She was waiting on one of the bench seats, her backpack at her side. She turned from the window to smile at him.

"Ready for some breakfast?" she asked.

"Sure," he answered, stowing his duffel in the closet. He gestured toward her backpack. "You want to leave that here?"

"Ok," she said, getting up and handing over the bag. "Thanks."

"I've got the compartment for the whole trip," he replied, shrugging.

"Is that an invitation to sleep in here again tonight?" she asked.

"Why not?" House shrugged again and started to turn toward the door. He froze when she went up on tip-toe to brush his cheek with a soft kiss.

"Thank you."

"The conductor will just end up dragging you in here anyway," he muttered gruffly, continuing toward the door. She fell into step behind him; he could feel her smiling at him as they made their way to the dining car.

The train reached Indianapolis shortly after 11. They had a six hour delay there while some cars were changed out and the train switched tracks for the last leg of their journey. House didn't have to remove anything from his compartment as he had it reserved for the rest of the trip. He made sure he had a new journal to read, his iPod, and his PSP in his backpack, intending to spend most of the wait in the station. Ginger pulled a small shoulder bag from her backpack, and proceeded to fill it with a camera, notepad, and her iPod. She was practically bouncing with excitement as they stepped off the train and House scowled at her.

"What are you so happy about? We're stuck here for six hours."

"There's a lot to see and do in downtown Indy," she answered, leading the way across the station. "There's the War Memorial, Soldiers & Sailors, the state capitol, the state library, the state museum, the historical society, the Arts Garden at Circle Center, the Canal walk…"

"And you're going to go see it all in six hours?"

"I've prioritized," she replied, unperturbed by his skepticism. "There's always something neat to see at the historical society and their café overlooks the canal so that's perfect for lunch, last time I was here I couldn't go up in Soldiers & Sailors because it was closed so I definitely want to do that, and I know I want to hit the state museum because there's an exhibit on Lincoln up right now."

"You sound like you work for the tourist bureau," House scoffed. Ginger laughed and shook her head.

"I grew up not too far from here. I used to visit downtown a lot on weekends."

"I thought your parents were in New Mexico?"

"They moved a couple of years ago, after I'd left for Philly."

"Ah." He nodded.

"You're welcome to join me," she said. "First stop is Soldiers & Sailors." He looked around the train station, grimacing. The thought of spending six hours there was less and less appealing. He looked back to Ginger and she smiled, her face lit with enthusiasm. He felt himself start to smile in return.

"Alright," he said, nodding.

Her face flushed with pleasure. "Great!" She led the way toward the station's exit and House followed along.


	4. Chatper 4

**Author's Note: I knew I wanted to run House through downtown Indy because of my familiarity with each of the places he winds up visiting, but as I was reading up on the IHS to remind myself what was there, I had to smack myself in the head. I'd forgotten Hoagy Carmichael and Cole Porter were Hoosiers! DOH! There really is a museum worker who dresses up and plays the piano as Porter, and guests are welcome to sing along if they wish.**

House's leg was aching by the time they reached the Soldiers and Sailors monument. The distance hadn't looked that great on the map but now he was regretting agreeing to walk. He paused on the sidewalk to look up at the structure, which sat in the center of a small square. The road split to go around it. He remembered Ginger saying that the governor's mansion had once sat there and shook his head. It must have been like living in a fish bowl.

They crossed the street and took their time walking around the outside of the building. Ginger didn't seem to be in any hurry to get inside and they made a full circle, taking in all of the carvings and statues. House tipped his head back to stare up at the structure, squinting in the bright sunshine. The tower might have commanded quite a view once, but several larger buildings now dwarfed it.

The building's interior was cool and dark and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. House followed as Ginger led the way down a short stair-case to the basement. A small museum was located there, featuring displays about the Civil War, and they moved about the exhibits at a leisurely pace. House paused to study a poster, advertising Lilly's Hoosier Battery. He read the accompanying plaque and discovered that the battery's commander, Eli Lilly, had gone on to found the pharmaceutical company after the war. Now the company was providing the funding for the museum.

It didn't take long to see everything in the basement. House met up with Ginger near the entrance and let her lead the way back upstairs. His leg was throbbing and when he spotted a bench, he dropped onto it. Ginger sat down beside him, waiting as he rubbed at his throbbing leg.

"Are you going up or not?" he demanded, uncomfortable with her scrutiny.

"I'll go up in a minute," she retorted. "I want to make sure you're ok."

"I'm a cripple who's just walked 6 blocks," he snapped. "I'm peachy." He glared at Ginger and she glowered back. After a moment he sighed and looked down at his feet. Snapping at her was petty. It wasn't like she'd forced him to come along; she'd shown him how far it was on the map and he'd agreed to walk. He started when her hand covered his.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I guess we should have got a taxi after all." He stole a glance at her and found her face apologetic.

"Last time I checked I was a grown man," he replied, fixing his gaze on his feet again. "You didn't force me into anything."

"Yeah, but this was supposed to be fun, not painful."

"Just… go on up in the tower already."

"If you're sure…"

"I'm sure."

"Ok. I'll see you down here in a few minutes."

"Take your time," he answered, sitting back on the bench. He watched her walk over to the elevator, admiring the sway of her hips. When she stepped into the car, she turned to face the doors, giving him a sheepish wave before they closed. He sighed, shaking his head. _What are you doing here, with her?_ he asked himself. _You should go back to the station before you make an ass of yourself. Correction – more of an ass._ He sighed again, feeling disappointment stab through him. Things had been fun, up until now. _Up until you ruined it._

"Hey." Ginger's soft voice startled him and he looked up to see her standing in front of him. She gave him a hesitant smile and slipped onto the bench beside him.

"How was the view?" he asked, looking away from her.

"Obstructed," she said. "Stupid banks and their stupid big buildings."

"Ah."

"I'm still glad I made it up there. Thanks for waiting for me."

House shrugged, shooting a quick glance at her before staring back at the floor. "What else was I going to do?"

"I don't know. I thought you might call a cab and ditch me." The bench creaked a little as she shifted. He looked over to see that she'd hunched forward too, her elbows resting on her knees. Her hair feel forward like a curtain, hiding her face. "I did get the number of a taxi company from the guard up there."

"Oh."

"I thought we could catch a ride to the IHS," she said and he turned to stare at her. "That is, if you still want to have lunch with me." She flipped a section of her hair back over her shoulder and smiled at him.

"Ok," he said hesitantly.

"I'll make the call," she replied, sitting up and fishing her cell phone out of her pocket.

They went outside to wait for the cab, sitting on the wall beside one of the reflecting pools. It was a warm day for October and the sun was now directly overhead. House tipped his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face and the occasional mist as a gust of wind caught the spray from the fountains.

"Damn," Ginger breathed. He lowered his head and opened his eyes to find her staring at him, a slightly dazed smile on her face.

"What?" he demanded.

"Never mind," she said, shaking her head and chuckling softly. "Just… never mind. I think I see our cab." She slipped off the wall and started for the yellow mini-van pulling up to the curb. House moved after her.

As they rode north toward the historical society, Ginger talked about the city's history. She leaned forward to point out the window at the state capital building and her chest brushed against his arm. An image of her that morning, with her t-shirt sliding off one shoulder, sprang into his mind. He found himself watching her instead of the passing scenery. After a few minutes, she started to grin.

"So, that's when the aliens came down and finished the construction for us," she said. House started to return her smile, until he realized what he'd just heard. His smile turned into a frown and Ginger began to laugh. "A-ha. _That_ got your attention at least."

"Hardy har – very funny," he muttered, feeling his face growing warm. The cab pulled up to the curb and he fumbled with his seat-belt, eager to escape. Unfortunately, Ginger was blocking his exit. She'd removed her seat-belt but instead of sliding open the van door, she turned on the seat to face him. She was still chuckling.

"You've been sitting there undressing me with your eyes this entire trip," she told him. "You could have said you weren't interested in history and I would have shut up."

"Maybe he was too busy enjoying the view," suggested the cab driver, shifting to look back at them. "I might have too, if I hadn't had to watch the road."

"Right." Ginger rolled her eyes before turning to open the van door. House looked at the cab driver, who shrugged and grinned.

"Hey, Man. I tried."

House paid the cab fare and tip before following Ginger onto the sidewalk. The building in front of them was red brick, with arched windows on the second floor. The structure was obviously new but built in a style that blended well with the historic buildings on the block. A set of steps led up to what appeared to be a main entrance, but several large flower pots blocked the route. A small sign in one pot proclaimed "This is not an entrance" and directed them to use the east doors. House let Ginger lead him down a flight of stairs to a terrace overlooking the canal.

"Lunch first?" she asked and he nodded, following her into the building.

The room they entered reminded him of the hospital cafeteria, until he noticed the ceiling. It was painted dark blue and dotted with sparkling stars. Ginger slowed her steps to keep pace with him, leaning over to speak quietly.

"This is the Stardust café," she told him.

"As in Hoagy Carmichael?" he asked. He looked up at the ceiling again and smiled. They'd certainly done a good job creating the illusion of a night sky. "I forgot he was from Indiana."

Ginger nodded. "He played all over the state when he was a college student." She led him into the line for food and their conversation was cut off. Once they settled at a chair near the windows, Ginger took up the subject of music again. When House told her that he not only liked jazz but played piano, her eyes lit up.

"Wait until you see the Cole Porter room. It's set up to look like a 1940s-style cabaret and they've got an interpreter who dresses the part and plays."

"Another Hoosier musician," House said, nodding as he remembered. "From Peru?"

"That's right. Did you know Peru is also the circus capital of the world?" When he arched a brow at her, she laughed. "My mom was born there."

"But not you?"

"No," she said, chuckling. "What about you? Where did you grow up?"

"All over the world. My father was a Marine pilot." He felt himself grow tense just thinking about his father and was relieved when Ginger didn't seem to notice.

"My grandfather – my dad's dad - was in the Air Force," she said. "They moved around a lot when my dad was young, mostly in the States although they were stationed in Germany for a time. My mom met my dad when his father was stationed at Grissom."

"Let me guess – she was the bearded lady and he rescued her from a loose lion."

"Not exactly," she replied, chuckling. She reached across the table to gather up the remnants of his lunch, stacking their trays together in preparation for carrying them to a trash can.

"A tight-rope-walker?" he suggested. "She fell and he caught her."

"Nope." She shook her head at him, her lips twitching, and got to her feet. He followed, continuing to suggest outlandish meetings as she disposed of their wrappers and led the way up to the main floor of the museum. By the time they reached the Cole Porter room, his tension was gone.

The room was set up to resemble a 1940s night club, complete with an antique bar along one wall. House made his way toward it, going past a piano on the way. He settled on a stool, turning to watch as Ginger made a slow circuit of the room. There were pictures along the walls, showing Porter at various stages in his life. When House turned, he could see a slide-show playing on a flat-panel television behind the bar. He watched the slides go by, smirking at a few images.

The sound of a piano made him turn. A man dressed in a tux was seated at the piano and as he began to play, the few people in the room moved toward the instrument eagerly. The man was hidden from view as they assembled, and House smirked to see Ginger's hips swaying slightly to the music as she stood in the cluster.

He laughed when a few members of the audience began to sing, but his chuckles faded when he realized that one clear alto belonged to Ginger. He listened intently then, trying to pick her voice out of the crowd. Some of the visitors fumbled with the lyrics, but not her. She knew all the words to every song played. House leaned back on his stool, resting his back against the bar behind him, and listened. He was glad that the guests were all focused on the interpreter because he knew he was grinning like a fool.


	5. Chapter 5

The interpreter played for 20 minutes, going through several of Porter's standards. When he finished the last song, he got to his feet and took a bow. The small audience burst into applause and House joined them. As the clapping faded, Ginger turned away from the piano and crossed the room to hop up on the bar-stool beside him.

"That was fun," she said. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining as she smiled at House. For a second he just stared at her, fighting the temptation to pull her into an embrace and kiss her. Music started up again and he nearly laughed to hear the singer croon "You'd be so easy to love." Ginger laughed and after a second he joined her.

"This room is great," she said, swiveling on the stool and running her hand across the bar's polished surface.

"I don't know," House replied, turning as well. "I've been here half-an-hour and still haven't seen the bar-tender. What do I have to do to get a drink around here?" He pitched his voice a little louder on the last question and a few people across the room snickered.

"I'm sure Cole Porter wouldn't approve either," Ginger said with a laugh. She put her elbows on the bar and rested her chin on her hands as she watched the pictures and film footage going past on the monitor. House watched her. The afternoon was beginning to feel surreal. It was strange enough to be in a new city with a beautiful woman he barely knew, but they actually seemed to be enjoying themselves too. He shook his head, smiling. _Wilson would never believe it_ , he thought.

"Easy to Love" ended and another song started up. House listened, thinking at first that it almost sounded as if the singer was making up the words as he went. There was a rhyme and meter to the lyrics however that told him they'd actually been put together with care. His appreciation for Porter's cleverness was overshadowed by a stab of sorrow as he realized what the lyrics said. He grimaced as his thoughts turned to his failed romance with Cuddy.

 _If ever to your woe_

 _Love comes to you one day_

 _Remember what I say_

 _I've loved, I know_

 _Love hates the sight of tears_

 _Love only cares for laughter_

 _So save your tears till after_

 _Love disappears_

 _When love comes your way_

 _Take every bit of joy you can borrow_

 _Be carefree, be gay_

 _Forget the world and say goodbye to sorrow_

 _Simply live for today_

 _And never think at all of tomorrow_

 _For just when you are sure that love has come to stay_

 _Then love files away_

"Well, that was a depressing little number," Ginger muttered.

"I think he got it right," House said, hefting an imaginary drink toward the image of Porter in salute.

"I don't think so. I'd say what he was describing wasn't love but infatuation."

"Potato, pahtato."

Ginger turned to stare, shaking her head. "Wow. Your boss did a number on you."

"You have no idea," he muttered, looking away. He shook his head at himself. What was he doing here anyway? He didn't know this woman and she didn't know him. He started to shift on the stool, ready to leave, and she put a hand on his arm.

"Please stay," she said quietly. "For today at least, let's just pretend they don't exist, that what happened with them didn't. They don't deserve to get to ruin our day." House was ready to scoff but when he looked at her face he could see that she was serious. He stared for a moment and shrugged.

"Ok," he said, settling back into place. She smiled, giving his arm a gentle squeeze, and they turned their attention back to the slide show.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the music and watching the images going by on the screen. House had forgotten how many excellent songs Porter had composed over the years. He felt himself start to relax again as he enjoyed the music.

He was only half paying attention to the images on the screen when he heard Ginger suck in a sharp breath.

"Oh – I'd forgotten about that," she murmured. House turned to look at the screen, where an image of a tuxedo-clad Porter being carried between two men was displayed. He frowned and looked over at Ginger, arching a brow at her.

"They carried him because he couldn't walk," she explained. "He'd been in a horse-riding accident and suffered compound fractures of both legs." House tried not to wince as he thought about the medical treatment that would have been available to Porter in the 30's and 40's and Ginger went on. "They were so bad that the doctors wanted to amputate, but he refused to consent. He wound up having dozens of surgeries over the years. Eventually they did have to take part of one leg."

"He was an idiot," House growled, turning back to the screen. The picture had changed; now a smiling Porter lounged in a bathing suit, a string of pearls around his neck.

"He was in terrible pain for the rest of his life," Ginger said, "but he never said that he regretted his decision."

"So he was stupid and stubborn."

"Maybe. It didn't stop him from creating some amazing music."

"Hmph." House turned on the stool and got down, starting across the room. Ginger followed, catching up to him the hall. He came to a stop as she stepped in front of him.

"You're mad," she said.

"You're observant," he retorted. He started to step around her but she moved to block his path. He sighed in exasperation. "Stupidity irritates me."

"I'm not a big fan of it myself," she replied.

"Could've fooled me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that… this is stupid." Ginger blinked, startled by his vehemence, but she didn't budge. After a moment she smiled grimly and shook her head.

"You're going to have to narrow it down a bit. Which 'this' are you referring to?"

"All of them. This conversation, this idea of spending the day together, this pretending that you're 15, this entire trip!" His voice rose with each 'this' and people passing in the hall turned to stare. Ginger's face flushed and her eyes narrowed.

"Fine," she said tersely. "Go sit by yourself in the train station and enjoy your superior intellect." She spun on her heel and stalked off, leaving House to stare after her. He felt a strange mixture of triumph and regret.

A few minutes later he exited the elevator on the first floor and found the gift shop. A clerk found him the number for a taxi service and he called for a cab. He went outside to wait, intending to try to enjoy the warmth of the sun. Instead, he found himself watching the sidewalk, searching for a head of red hair amongst the people passing.

"Pathetic," he muttered, pushing himself off the steps when a yellow car pulled in to the curb. "Just pathetic."

The rest of his afternoon seemed to crawl by. He'd found a seat in one of the lounges in the station and settled there, pulling out his iPod and PSP to entertain himself. He found his attention wandering from the games however. He kept looking up at the people passing in the concourse, starting whenever he caught a glimpse of red hair. By the time 3:30 rolled around, he'd put the game back into his backpack and concluded that there were entirely too many red-heads in Indiana.

At 4 o'clock the PA system crackled to life, announcing that passengers on the Albuquerque train could begin boarding. Departure was in one hour. House gathered up his back-pack, found his ticket-stub, and started for the platform. There was no sign of Ginger in the small crowd moving with him, but she'd have to come to his compartment sooner or later if only to retrieve her backpack. Would she stay, or would she try to hide from the conductor out in the regular seating?

House settled in his compartment, pleased to find that his window gave him a view of the platform. He watched, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ginger, but 4:30 came and went without him seeing any sign of her. His anxiety was increasing with each passing minute. He didn't think she was so angry that she'd abandon her property, but something could have happened to her. He wished he had her cell phone number.

He'd just gotten to his feet to go check in the seating on the chance that he'd missed her when he heard a knock on his compartment door. He pulled it open hastily, trying not to sigh in relief when he saw Ginger waiting there. They stared at each other for a minute without speaking.

"Hi," Ginger said at last.

"Hi." House stepped back to let her enter and she came in, sliding the compartment door shut behind her. He moved to one of the benches and sat down. After a moment, she followed, taking a seat across from him. She had a plastic shopping bag in one hand and she reached inside to get something, holding it out to him. He stared at it suspiciously.

"It's a t-shirt, not a snake," she said, chuckling softly. "It's from the Lincoln exhibit. It just… seemed appropriate. Call it a peace offering." Frowning, House reached out to take the shirt. It was white, with a sketch of Lincoln's face and a quote on it. "A house divided against itself cannot stand." He frowned at it.

"A message?" he asked, looking up at Ginger.

"Like I said, it seemed appropriate," she replied. "I got myself one too." She pulled another shirt out of the bag, shaking it out to reveal another image of Lincoln and the slogan "I like my men tall and honest." House snickered before he could stop himself. He looked back to his own shirt for a moment.

"You think I'm… divided against myself?"

"I think you're letting someone who put her career ahead of you have way too much power over your happiness."

House shook his head, looking up at her and arching a brow. "Hello, Pot. This is Kettle."

Ginger's face flushed and she ducked her head. "Touché." The train's whistle sounded and they both turned to look out the window as they began to move. Soon the station was gone from sight and they were moving through the city, slowly picking up speed. After a few minutes, House switched his gaze to her, watching her. She continued to stare out the window, her expression not betraying her thoughts.

"So," he asked at last, "now what?" She turned to look at him and shrugged.

"I don't know," she admitted.

"How about dinner?" he asked. His stomach rumbled, echoing the request and she smiled.

"Works for me."


	6. Chapter 6

By the time they finished dinner and returned to the compartment, the sun had set. There wasn't a lot to see out the windows anyway; they'd left the city behind and moved into western Indiana. House didn't protest when Ginger pulled the blinds closed. He did arch a brow in surprise when she sat beside him instead of taking a seat on the opposite bench.

"Sooo," she said, drawing out the word, "now what?"

"Thought that was my line," he muttered, uncomfortable with her close proximity and her scrutiny.

"Turnabout's fair play," she retorted, smiling up at him. He flushed and looked away, suddenly wishing he'd lingered over dinner. In the dining car, surrounded by other passengers, things had been easy between them. Now that they were alone, he wasn't sure how to act around her. Memories from that morning kept popping into his head – her long legs swinging from the upper bunk, her t-shirt slipping from her shoulder, the way she'd smiled at him. He wasn't sure he could trust his voice so he just shrugged, glancing over at her. She was still smiling but he could see in her eyes that she was having some kind of debate with herself. He waited, watching, and after a moment she came to a decision.

"We could just… go to bed," she suggested. When he didn't respond, her face flushed and she started to turn away.

"Wa… wait," he said, reaching out to catch her hand. His heart was pounding and his mouth felt dry. She looked at him, arching her brows in a question.

"You've undressed me in your mind a half-dozen times already," she told him, her voice growing more confident as she spoke. "And I must admit I'd like a closer look at your… architecture." He snorted and she covered one of his hands with hers. "I'm perfectly serious."

"You're perfectly… something," he muttered, frowning at her. "Trust me – you'll be happier sticking with your fantasy. Reality almost always disappoints."

"I can't touch my fantasy," she said softly, sliding closer to him. She reached up with her free hand to touch his face, gently turning his head toward hers. She studied him for a moment before moving forward to kiss him. The kiss started off gentle, a soft touching of her lips to his, and then her hand moved to the back of his head, pulling him in for more. He threaded his hand into her hair and when her lips parted, he took full advantage.

They finally broke off, panting to catch their breath, but didn't move apart. He rested his forehead against hers, leaving his hand tangled in her soft tresses. Her hand slipped from the back of his neck to rest lightly on his shoulder.

"I think," she said softly, "we should get the bed assembled."

"O…k," he managed, feeling his nerves start up again. He got carefully to his feet, moving out of the way as she started to fold out the bunk. "I… I'll be right back," he muttered, retreating into the bathroom. He shut the door and leaned against it, warring with himself. He doubted her fantasy had included his mangled leg; how would she react when she saw the scar? Would he see revulsion or pity in her face? He started when she knocked softly on the door.

"Bed's ready whenever you are," she said. He heard her move away, and then the faint creak of the mattress as she got into the bed. He looked over at his face in the mirror, shaking his head a little. _Sexy? Really?_

When he emerged a few minutes later, he'd stripped down to his boxers. He hadn't been ready to pull those off and fully expose his scar. She could see enough this way to decide if she wanted to go through with this.

The compartment lights were off, save one over the bunk. Ginger was against the back of the bench, lying on her side beneath the covers. Her bare shoulders were visible and as he approached she propped her head up on one hand to smile at him.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," he answered. He stopped at the edge of the bunk and she reached out to pull back the covers, baring herself in the process. He took a moment to stare, admiring her full breasts and the small thatch of curls between her thighs before slipping off his boxers and sliding into the bed beside her. She reached for him, drawing him in for a kiss and he returned it, slipping his arms around her.

He came awake slowly the next morning, first aware of a small hand on his chest, then of Ginger's body pressed along his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Flashes of memory came to him – the way her skin had felt beneath his hands, the taste of her, the look on her face as she moved over him. He opened his eyes to find her smiling at him.

"Morning," she murmured, shifting on the bed. She propped herself up on one arm and reached out to trace a finger along his jaw, her lips slowly curving into a wide smile. "Wow."

"Just wow?" he asked and she chuckled.

"The reality is _much_ better than the fantasy," she replied, leaning over to kiss him. They'd just broken apart when his stomach growled, sounding loud in the quiet compartment. Hers answered and they both laughed.

"Breakfast?" she asked and he nodded. She slipped out of the bed and he followed.

By the time they'd finished showering and dressing it was late morning. They made their way to the dining car, debating about whether they'd be eating brunch or breakfast. House insisted that "brunch" was a made-up meal while Ginger maintained that it wasn't.

The dining car was half-empty and they easily found a booth. When they reached for the menus their hands brushed. House felt his face grow warm and when he looked at Ginger, her face was flushed. They stared at each other for a moment.

"What do you want to eat, _Uncle_?" Ginger asked. House flushed and drew back. He focused on the menu, studying it intently while they waited to place their orders. After the waitress left, he sat back in the booth and turned his gaze to the window.

"Hey," Ginger said quietly. He turned to see that she was leaning forward, her arms on the table. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's fine," he replied, dropping his gaze to the table-top.

"I just don't want our time together to end with you getting arrested as a pedophile," she said quietly. "Ok?" He looked over to see her smiling nervously at him.

"Ok," he said, nodding. Her smile broadened and he returned it, feeling his tension easing. His appetite had returned by the time their food arrived. Ginger laughed to see a wedge of cantaloupe on her plate.

"It _is_ brunch after all," she said triumphantly.

"Right," House snorted.

"Brunch always comes with a slice of melon at the end," she said, grinning at him. Her grin turned to out-rage when he reached over to snatch up the melon. "What are you doing?"

"Getting rid of brunch," he said, taking a big bite. Ginger rolled her eyes, laughing at him. He set the melon rind aside and she reached over to wipe some juice off his chin. The waitress passed by, giving them a puzzled look, and he took the napkin from Ginger's hand with regret. Her face flushed a little and she turned her attention to her plate. House did the same. They demolished their meals in relative silence, all too aware of the watchful eyes of the dining car staff.

It was a relief to return to the compartment, away from prying eyes. He settled on the bench and stretched his legs out to rest on the opposite seat. When Ginger sat down beside him he slipped an arm around her. She was too short to use the other seat for a foot-rest so she tucked her legs up beside her on the seat and rested her head against his shoulder. House let his head droop, resting against the seat-back, and closed his eyes with a sigh. At some point last night a tightness in his chest had eased. It wasn't until it now, when it was gone, that he realized it had been there for some time. He briefly tried to trace its origins – did it date back to the board meeting, to that first night with Cuddy, or did it go back even further? He wasn't sure; he only knew that for the first time in a long time, he felt content.

"You're not falling asleep on me, are you?" Ginger asked, chuckling softly.

"No," he said, tightening his arm a little. "Just… thinking."

"Happy thoughts I hope," she said. He could hear the smile in her voice and his lips curved up too.

"Yeah," he murmured, dropping a light kiss on the top of her head.

"Good," she said. "You have the most amazing smile. You shouldn't hide it." He snorted and she shifted on the seat, lifting her head. He opened his eyes to find her staring at him. "Don't do that," she said softly.

"Don't do what?"

"Run yourself down like that." He stared at her, shaking his head.

"What does it matter to you?"

She laughed. "I happen to like you," she said.

"You barely know me."

"I knew enough to know that I wanted you last night."

"That was… infatuation," he said, remembering their conversation at the historical society.

She shook her head, shifting so she was sitting sideways on the bench and facing him. "I've been infatuated before. This is… different," she said. Her voice grew more certain as she continued. "I'm not saying I'm in love with you, but we're more than just two strangers who shared a night together."

"What are we then?" he asked.

"We're… fond of each other." She reached out to take his hand in hers. "That's good enough for me."

"I… I could stay a while," he offered hesitantly. She shook her head, her smile turning wistful.

"I'm not staying," she said. "I realized last night that I need to take my own advice. I have a good job in Philly, one that I do well and enjoy. I'm crazy to let some jerk who put his career ahead of me take that away." House nodded once, looking down at their joined hands. His mind was racing. Philadelphia wasn't that far from Princeton. If he stayed at the hospital, maybe they could see each other sometime. But could he stay there? Could he work with Cuddy again? He thought about what Ginger had said, about having a job that she did well and enjoyed. He wasn't sure he'd ever thought about his work in those terms.

"That's good," he said at last. "Good for you." She leaned in to kiss his cheek and he looked up at her.

"You have to decide what's good for you," she said, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "I know you'll figure it out." He knew it was ridiculous, but her confidence made him feel better. This wasn't a decision he had to make today; he had several more weeks of leave time. He smiled and put his arm around her again.

By the time they reached the station, he'd come to a decision. There was a lot he still hadn't seen in downtown Indianapolis. It was as good a place as any to hide out for a few more weeks. Maybe he'd even visit the IU Med School and drop off a resume. Just making that decision lifted his spirits and he stepped off the train with a smile on his face.

Ginger led him through the station to an exit where a row of taxis waited. When they reached the doors she turned to look at him, smiling.

"I guess this is it," she told him. "I can suggest a few places to check out while you're here."

"That's ok," he replied. "I'm not staying."

"Good for you," she said, moving forward to give him a hug. He hugged her back.

"It will be," he murmured.

"Will you take the train again?" she asked as they drew apart.

"No," he said firmly. "This time I'm taking a plane." He hefted his suitcase and started out the door for the taxis, the sound of Ginger's laughter following him.


End file.
